The Body in the Moonlight Read Online Free PDF Page B

I never knew your husband was such a good dancer, Faith. He’s doing the Charleston with some babe in a beaded dress, and they are moving!”
    Faith knew Tom was a good dancer, but he’d kept his Charleston act a secret. She took the tray out herself to get a look.
    Most of the guests were in costume, and from the slight smell of mothballs as she passed some of the older people in attendance, she guessed that their raccoon coats or fringed silk chemises had been father’s or mother’s—stowed in the attic along with all the other generational accumulation that just might come in handy someday.
    She spotted Tom on the dance floor and winked. He waved and motioned her over, but she shook her head. She had to get back to the kitchen. He was dancing with Gwen Lord, a striking brunette who was engaged to Jared Gabriel, First Parish’s choirmasterand music maven in residence. Jed had composed some music for the church and was working on the “Anniversary Chorale.” Gwen’s beaded turquoise dress shimmered as she shimmied. She worked in a gallery on Boston’s Newbury Street and her stylish, sleek haircut fit both eras. Faith didn’t know her that well, but this was only the second time she’d ever seen Gwen in an outfit that wasn’t black or gray and Armani.
    Someone grabbed Faith’s elbow, neatly tipping the tray sideways. The last of the coconut shrimp toppled to the floor. The parquet had been covered by a thick Aubusson carpet in Increase Ballou’s day, a symbol of his taste and success, but it had been removed and sold by his heirs. Too French.
    â€œNo harm done,” Faith said, pulling a cloth from her pocket and turning with a smile to reassure the partygoer. Except it wasn’t a partygoer, but a party planner, and she never needed any reassurance.
    â€œWe have got to get people to sit down, or we’ll be here until the wee hours of the morning!” Paula wailed. She was wearing a vintage beaded black flapper dress. A black velvet band encircled her brow, complete with feather trim sprouting straight up above her eyes. She looked like something you’d rather not see circling in the desert sky.
    â€œThe wee hours of the morning wouldn’t be so bad,” Faith couldn’t help teasing her. “People are having fun.” But Paula was right. It was time to start serving—and start the game.
    â€œHave the mystery writer (what’s her name?—Veronica Brookside—and is that really her name?) invite everyone to be seated and give the combo a break. We’ll stop pouring wine. That should do it.”
    As Faith offered the solution, she wondered why Paula was in such a state. The woman did parties all the time and must have encountered this problem before. Paula had been mildly crazed all evening and had not said a word about the table decorations. What was the woman so worried about? The silent-auction bids were already higher than they’d projected for final bids and Kate Mattes was running out of books to sell. The mystery writers were circulating, happily signing their books and greeting fans. Even Anson Scott was smiling. As Faith passed him on her way back to the kitchen, he stopped her.
    â€œFrom your attire, I surmise you are the chef. My compliments. If those toothsome vegetable fritters and scallop seviche are portents of what is to come, we are in for a sublime gastronomic experience.” Faith had rented twenties servant’s attire for the wait staff, but she was wearing her usual checked chef’s trousers and white jacket.
    â€œThank you,” she said. Did he always speak this way, or was it a result of the ambience and what he’d been drinking?
    â€œMy good lady, that was not an idle compliment. Food is a passion with me and I fancy myself a knowledgeable connoisseur. Do not let me leave without one of your cards.”
    A kindred spirit. “There are cards on the table in thehall,